Harry Potter and the Road Trip to Remember
by Rosaria Marie
Summary: When 12-year-old Harry Potter is thrown out of his aunt's house during the summer, he must embark on a road trip with the ever-sneering Professor Severus Snape, which rapidly turns into a fiasco involving muggle rental cars, waffle machines, laryngitis, a police taising, a death-eater convention, and other mishaps! (NOTE: CURRENTLY ON HIATUS)
1. Chapter 1: Haunted House

Chapter 1: Haunted House

The rain was coming down in buckets as Harry made his way up the path towards the grim, foreboding building at the top of the hill. It was late in the evening and very nearly dark outside, but he could still perceive its outline against the backdrop of the dusk sky. It looked more like a barn that a house, being ill-kempt and dilapidated to the extreme. Actually, the only inhabitants Harry could imagine living in such a dismal biscuit box were ghosts.

Well, either that or the every-slithery, ever-sneering Professor Severus Snape.

The latter reality was true. It was just Harry's luck that his least favorite teacher from Hogwarts should be in closest proximity to his aunt's house, from which the 12-year-old had been thrown earlier that day for inflicting one too many magical "accidents" on his relations since he started demonstrating his knack for wizardry.

Now he could only think of getting back to Hogwarts, even if it was the middle of the summer and school was out. It was the only place he had ever really felt at home, and he was sure Headmaster Albus Dumbledore would be able to work out something and allow him to spend his summer somewhere on the grounds. The only problem was that he had absolutely no idea how to get back to Hogwarts. The train behind the wall of the London tube station, he knew for a fact, did not run when school was out.

So he had done the very practical thing of going to the local library and rummaging through the phone and address books for his teachers. Of course, he would have preferred help from one of his fellow students, but unfortunately, his friend Ron Weasley was on an archeological expedition in Egypt after his dad won the lottery, and his other friend Hermione Granger was on holiday with her family in Paris. Worse yet, it seemed that the teachers he would have preferred to locate all lived far afield from London, and for all he knew, were off on far-flung vacations.

But there was one sure-shot, blood-curdling, stomach-churning one, but still a sure-shot. Snape, he had heard for a fact, never went on holiday. Furthermore, he lived in a factory town in the midlands, more within striking distance than any of the other teachers from the capital. So Harry had taken the last remaining change he had in his pockets and bought himself a one-way bus ticket there, in hopes that the man might at least have the courtesy to help him get in touch with Dumbledore and point him in the right direction towards Hogwarts.

Now, standing on Snape's rickety front porch with all his worldly possessions in a suitcase and bird cage (he would rather had died than leave Hedwig at the mercy of his estranged relations), Harry mustered up all the courage he had and pressed the button to ring the doorbell…only to discover it was decidedly broken. Hesitantly, he rapped on the door with his knuckles. Still no sign of life or movement from within. The overhang was leaking something terrible, and Harry was getting drenched. He noticed that there was a tool shed not far from the house, so he set down his belongings, hopped off the porch, and sloshed across the yard to take shelter there.

Stepping inside, he felt even more spooked than before, observing spider webs, shelves of bottles containing potions and poisons alike, and various cages and containers with both living and dead frogs, snakes, and mice. He assumed the potions master used them for scientific experimentation, especially given the long wooden table littered with dissecting tools. Harry's stomach flipped. He had disliked Snape pretty much from the first day of potions class, and the feeling was clearly mutual given how the teacher had made a public example of him in front of the other students, but now the boy felt sick.

He was just about to abandon the whole notion of asking him for assistance and take off into the unknown, come what may, when he was stopped cold in his tracks by an unnerving screech, and the biggest black cat he had ever seen leaping in front of his path. Harry yelped, and fell backwards into a shelf of potion bottles.

Badly shaken already, he was more distraught to hear heavy footfalls and the pale visage of Severus Snape standing over him, holding a flickering lantern in his hand. He was still dressed in the black cloak he had always worn at Hogwarts (and Harry by now was fairly convinced it was more a part of his body than an article of clothing), and his matching black, greasy hair looked more disorderly than ever. His face resembled that of any storybook phantom, and his expression was one of sheer horror.

"You," he blurted, and the level of distain in his voice was palpable.

"I…I just…had to ask you a question…"

"What?!" Snape snapped. "You come trespassing on my land, damaging my property, and now you plan on taking a survey, is that it?"

"No, I mean…I just…"

"You _just_." The professor squinted at him. "How did you, of all pernicious persons, locate my place of residence?"

"Looked you up at the library," Harry mumbled. "I just wanted to know how I could get back to Hogwarts."

"Get _back_ to Hogwarts," Snape repeated, incredulously. "What do you think, that it's open any time of day or night, in any season, at your beck and call?"

"But my aunt kicked me out of the house today," he explained. "I thought Professor Dumbledore might have a solution. But I didn't know how to get in touch with him. I figured you would able to reach him, though."

"Oh, I see," Snape sneered. "So I'm the slave of the chosen one. I'm here to enable your prolific correspondence with the wizarding world."

"Look, can't you just help me this once?" Harry pleaded, struggling to his feet. "Then I'll be gone like a flash, I promise. Professor Dumbledore would see to that, I know he would."

Snape exhaled, and then sarcastically stated, "Yes, Dumbledore the great can solve _anything_." He gestured to the mess Harry had made. "Clean up those bottles, and then get back to the house. I'll decide what to do with you inside."

Harry decided he might as well do as he was told, in hopes that professionalism would supersede personal feeling and Snape might actually put him in touch with Dumbledore. After getting most of the potion bottles, both broken and unbroken, put back on the shelf in no particular order, he headed back to the porch.

This time, Snape was waiting at the door to admit him, though his dark, beady eyes read "Not Welcome". Harry didn't much care; he just wanted to get in out of the rain which had already soaked through his sweater and jeans. And even if the house was creepy, it couldn't possibly be as creepy as the tool shed. Or at least, not the same variety of creepy.

Nonetheless, in this case, the book could very well be judged by its cover, for the house's dreary exterior complimented its seedy interior. It was almost entirely dark, except for a light bulb hanging from the ceiling in what Harry assumed was supposed to be the sitting room. There was an ancient-looking sofa, and several shelves stashed full with books, as well as more potions bottles and chemistry equipment randomly lying around on the floor and on a scratched-up coffee table.

For once, Harry started feeling sorry for Snape, wondering if his lack of sociability had anything to do with his surroundings, or if it was the other way around, and his surroundings mirrored his inner state of miserable-ness. Either way, his teacher was obviously not in the mood for a philosophical discussion on the subject.

"I could just throw you out, you know," he remarked high-handedly. "Then what would you do, oh magnificent one, wandering through the country all alone at night in a rainstorm, with town drunks and wild creatures lurking about in the shadows? I think it could be most satisfying to turn you loose, at that…"

"You can't scare me!" Harry shot back, getting angry. "You're just being a bully!"

"Watch…that… _tone_ ," Snape hissed, and there was a deadly earnestness in his words that made Harry shudder.

"Why do you hate me so much?" the boy blurted, feeling vulnerable after being disowned by his only living family just hours before. "What did I ever do to you?"

"What did you ever…" Snape paused, and snickered ruefully. Then he seemed lost in his own thoughts for a long moment. "It's late," he acknowledged at last. "I have no tolerance for bickering with an uninvited house guest. We can cover whatever ground there is to cover in the morning." He gestured to the sofa with a broad sweep of his arm. "Take it or leave it, Potter."

Harry reluctantly put his belongings down on the ground, stumbled towards the sofa, and crashed out on it. The springs were obviously sprung, so the landing was harder than he had expected. But he was too exhausted to complain about the discomfort, and was admittedly rather relieved to have somewhere dry to sleep. Well, mostly dry, that is, as the roof was afflicted by various leaks, which Snape had set up various buckets to catch. But there was one right over the couch that Harry had a feeling might be his bane all night long.

Still, he refrained from commentary on the conditions, even when he felt a rough woolen blanket tossed unceremoniously over him, accompanied by his host's aggravated mutterings. However, he did snap to attention when he felt some other weight on top of him, which began to "meow" ominously. It was jumbo creepy cat from the shed, who had evidently followed them inside, and was now crouched on Harry's stomach, staring at him with big, yellow eyes.

"Oh, and Potter," Snape called from somewhere across the room, "I wouldn't give Bastet any reason to resent your presence in her domain. She gets rather defensive, you know, and might just take the notion to…scratch your eyes out."

Harry then heard the professor close the door of his room with a slam, and proceed to secure at least three locks before retiring and leaving Harry to face his lone lady friend for the night's duration, trying to outstare her intermittently till the break of dawn.


	2. Chapter 2: Conference Call

Chapter 2: Conference Call

Professor Snape stood inside a phone booth in town, dialing long distance. Not being a particularly social, chatty type, and additionally being flat broke, he did not own a home telephone. However, he was desperate to make contact with Professor Dumbledore at his last known location: a resort spa in the Bahamas.

Fortuitously, Dumbledore had entrusted all the Hogwarts teachers with the number, just in case of some unforeseen emergency in the wizarding world. Thus, even though Snape felt as if he was losing blood making a toll call (he was infamously cheap, like his father before him), he dialed away and waited patiently to be connected to the head man himself.

First he got the receptionist who informed him in broken English that Mr. D. was currently soaking up aromatic essences in a hot tub. Snape gritted his teeth and emphasized the urgent nature of the call. With the encouraging response of "Please hold the line", the receptionist finally went to fetch the errant headmaster. After what felt like an eternal wait, in which Snape counted every millisecond with his draining finances in mind, Dumbledore made his vocal appearance on the other end.

"Hullo, out there…?"

"It's Severus," said Severus, bleakly.

"Severus, my dear boy! What a pleasant surprise!"

"Actually…it's not," Snape countered. "The boy crashed my house last night."

"The boy…?"

"You know! The one that lived?"

There was a momentary stunned pause on Dumbledore's end. "Harry came to visit you?"

"Evidently it was a simple matter of the rate of bus fare," he surmised. "His aunt sent him packing for some transgression or other, and the nearest abode of any Hogwarts teacher was most regrettably that of yours truly."

"Severus…what have you done with the boy thus far?" inquired Dumbledore in a note of concern.

"For the record, I have been the picture of hospitality," he stated, unconvincingly. "I am even letting him pay off his debt for taking over my sofa for the night by cleaning my house and tool shed."

"Your generosity knows no bounds," Dumbledore exhaled.

"I know," Snape agreed, conceitedly. "I even went the extra kilometer and gave him the opportunity to bathe and groom my cat."

"Umm….if your cat is the same as it was when you picked it up as a stray on the school grounds, bathing it is equivalent to courting death."

Snape smirked. "As they say, no risk, no gain."

"Somehow I'm getting a strong feeling that if he stays with you too long, his title 'the boy who lived' might be irrevocably reversed."

"That's why I decided to make this call. This urchin's got to go, and fast, for the sake of our mutual longevity. But the question is…where? The little nitwit is madly intent on returning to school early."

"Well, that is a possibility," the headmaster conceded. "Hagrid is still on the grounds, and I'm sure he'd be happy to care for the boy till the next term. We'll try and find him a more stable living situation from there."

" _You_ will," Snape corrected. "I did not sign on to be a juvenile placement officer."

"Point taken, Severus, but I'm afraid we're in a bit of a pickle. Platform 9 ¾ will not be functional until the next school year starts, so…someone might have to…drive him there."

"What?!"

"I am going to attempt to establish communication with Hagrid so the three of us can have a conference call."

"Hagrid does not have a home phone, Albus," Snape reminded him with noted annoyance, "and even if he did, trying to have a three-way conversation involving that dunderheaded oaf is simply…"

"Ah, but you forget that I purchased him a cell phone last year for Christmas."

"And he proceeded to use it to take pictures of all his beastly pets, the beastly student body, and inaugurate a holiday group shot of the faculty that you forced me to participate in under duress," Snape recalled.

"And you refused to say 'cheese'," Albus added.

"Alright, aside from that fiasco," Snape dismissed with a wave of his hand across an imaginary chalk board, "my point is Hagrid never properly learned how to use said phone for communicative purposes!"

"Actually, last I was in his company, he seemed quite enthused by the various ring tones available," Dumbledore countered. "Let's assume he finally selected one and has gotten his messaging system in working order. Can't hurt to test it out..."

"Albus, I remind you, this is a toll call..."

"Please hold the line."

"Wait…no!"

But Dumbledore had already vanished. Snape started feeling phone booth claustrophobia, especially when he noticed a little line had gathered outside, waiting to utilize the facility.

 _Wonderful_ , Snape thought. _A hoard of phoneless muggles breathing down my neck_.

"Snape, hurry it up in there!" bellowed Mr. Chillingsworth, the cantankerous tavern owner who was always too cheap to install a phone in his place of business.

"I believe you can afford to wait your turn," Snape snapped back.

"Eh, just like your father before ya!" Mrs. Heffington, the factory worker's wife behind him scoffed. "You Snapes have been nothing but a nuisance to this town, back to the Norman Conquest, and you're the oddest of the lot!"

"My thanks for the genealogical survey," he snorted.

Finally, life returned to the phone.

"Severus, I've got Hagrid on the line."

"'Ello, Professor," said Hagrid cheerfully.

"Greetings," Snape forced out.

"I'd be 'appy to take 'arry in," Hagrid accepted, good-naturedly. "Me an' 'im are best mates."

"So touched to hear it," Severus droned.

Just then there was a click in the phone, and a mechanical voice stated, "Your time is up. Please insert change to continue your call."

Snape winced, and fuddled with his cloak. As he expected, it was penniless. Begrudgingly, he decided to execute a risky maneuver, and opened the phone booth door.

"Look…do you have any change?"

Mr. Chillingsworth turned purple. "Change…for you?!"

"It's a long distance call…"

"I don't care if you're calling the Vampire Association of Transylvania or the Warlock Convention of Stonehenge!"

Snape's eyes narrowed angrily. "If I'm a practitioner of any…dark arts…perhaps it would be altogether best to simply…give me the change…. _now_."

Mouth agape, the superstitious tavern keeper slowly did as he was told.

"So kind of you," Snape remarked sweetly, then locked himself back in his phone booth security zone and stuffed the change into the phone just in time.

"I'm back," he announced.

"Excellent, Severus," Dumbledore exclaimed. "Except that now…we've lost Hagrid."

" _Noooo_ …" Snape groaned. "I told you…he's utterly…"

"Wait…wait…he's coming back!"

"Sorry 'bout that," Hagrid apologized through excessive static. "I, uh, kinda almost flushed this thing down the toilet by mistake."

"How…how could you possibly manage to…" Snape started, then thought better of it and refuted, "Actually, I just realized I'd rather not know, so…let us move on to bigger and brighter things, such as…how do you expect to get this little brat back to the school grounds off-season?"

"Well…Severus, do you have a local rental garage in your area?"

"Hold everything," the professor snapped. "I am _not_ going to be the chauffeur!"

"Severus…"

"I cannot drive!"

"That's a defeatist attitude," Dumbledore chided him. "You have to empower yourself with the thought that…"

"Do NOT psychoanalyze me!"

"But we're behind you 100 percent, aren't we Hagrid?"

"Yup! And I'll be sitting tight, ready to give 'im directions with my cell…"

At that moment, the cell died out and there was a deafening silence from Hagrid's shack.

"Albus, I am NOT going to put myself at the mercy of that bumbling idiot with a waterlogged cell phone."

"Severus, you can't let this sort of thing get you down," Dumbledore insisted. "You are one of the most powerful wizards to graduate from Hogwarts…"

"What bearing does that have on my ability to drive muggle cars for the obnoxious children of people who I hated?!"

"And loved," Dumbledore mumbled quietly.

Snape exhaled. "Regardless. I hate children. You know that well enough."

"But you're still a teacher, and that has become a part of your identity in spite of yourself. Remember that time in one of the first year classes when you saved that child who fell into the giant washing machine while trying to make peanut butter marshmallow brownies?"

Snape grimaced. "That…was for the sake of the washing machine. It had already been traumatized enough that day by being used for a blender. Letting it consume that little beast would have been altogether indigestible for it."

"But the students did come to you for aid," Dumbledore reminded him.

"That was because I was the only teacher on the basement floor at 3 o'clock in the morning! The little monsters from Hufflepuff were committing multiple misdemeanors at once…"

"But…you did stop the washing machine and save said child from a gruesome fate, and looked genuinely concerned for a moment…"

"The concern was for my cloak, which had been bespattered with chocolate peanut butter marshmallow batter, and could not be cleaned for a week because the washing machine needed to be gutted."

"Still…I recall you asked him quite a few questions to make sure the child's brain had not been too badly disrupted…including his mother's maiden name, which he never could remember under ordinary circumstances…"

"That's because I knew I would be dealing with him for about a month's worth of detention cleaning out potions bottles and inkblotting papers in the laboratory, and there's nothing worse than an addle-headed assistant."

Dumbledore sighed. "Alright, fine. So you hate children."

"Thank you. A pity it took you that long to admit it, via a long distance call."

"But you are still under my employ, Severus," the headmaster reminded him, ever-so-delicately, "and I have done you a few…favors over the years."

"Please," Snape exhaled, rolling his eyes. "Not the Azkaban thing again."

"What? Do I bring it up a lot?"

"Through covert allusions, yes, you do," Snape confirmed. " _Constantly_."

"Well…let's not dwell on the unpleasant!"

"My point exactly."

"So…call me from the rental place…"

"Albus…"

"And make sure you pick up a cell phone before leaving. I'd like to speak to Harry briefly before you both hit the road..."

"Hit the…what?!"

"I really must away, take off these drippy towels, get into my tennis gear…"

"Tennis? You…play tennis?"

"Ta-ta for now!"

"Wait, Al…"

Too late. The line was dead. And so was Snape's patience. And so was the patience of the angered throng outside the phone booth, pounding on the outside of it with their fists.

Snape rolled his eyes and courageously flung open the door to face the mob.

"Snape!" bellowed Mr. Chillingsworth. "You better pay up, unlike your reprobate father!"

The professor squinted. "I'll pay, you old miser. You can count on that. But…I shall have to obtain some change first."

"Where ya gonna do that?"

Snape exhaled. "At Tidsbury and Sons Automobile Rental and Repairs."


	3. Chapter 3: Preparations

Chapter 3: Preparations

When Snape returned to his house, he found that Harry's attempts to bathe Bastet in the kitchen had ended in a predictable fiasco, involving a soapy and soggy boy pleading with a soapy and soggy cat to get down off the top of Snape's antiquated ice box. The sink was still partially filled with tufts of black fur floating at the surface, and there was a trail of wet paw-and-sneaker prints across the floor.

"Clearly you are incapable of achieving even the simplest task without some massive drama attached," Snape derided, knowing full well how un-simple it really was. He narrowed his eyes. "Just like your father."

"Look, I don't knock your dad, why do you knock mine?" Harry challenged. "It's not fair…not fair at all! He was a great man!"

"And I don't give a damn." His eyes burnt for a moment, hotter than Harry had expected, then subsided as he started to coax Bastet down from her hiding place with soothing words in Classical Latin. Surprisingly, the cat seemed to respond, and leapt down into Snape's arms. Then he proceeded to wipe the soap off her face with his cloak and stroke her until she purred.

 _Two of a kind_ , Harry groaned inwardly.

"As it stands, Potter, you're going to have to learn to temper your vile inclinations somehow, as I have no patience for childish outbursts while driving."

Harry looked shocked. " _Driving_?"

"You, wonder boy, have forced me between a rock and a hard place, and according to the headmaster, in order to get you out of my living quarters in as efficient a manner as possible, I must personally deposit you in the care of Hagrid on the school grounds."

"But…a car? Couldn't we, like, use magic?"

"Could and should are two different things," he pointed out. "And summer, as you should know by now, is the season of magical inertia."

"Huh?"

"We don't use it unless absolutely necessary," Snape clarified. "We learn to live as muggles among muggles, as far as possible. This has enabled us to maintain the secrecy of our world for generations." He squinted. "I gather you missed that point when you were thrown out of your aunt's. It was for using magic, wasn't it?"

"I was…just trying to do the dishes…magically…then they sort of got…smashed up…"

Snape glared at him coldly, letting the cat jump out of his arms. "If you weren't the favorite fudge of Dumbledore, for the love of Merlin, you would never set foot on the Hogwarts grounds again, you little imp. I shall file a report about your misdemeanor as soon as the next session opens."

Harry hung his head, and started to absentmindedly scratch at his right hand.

"What are you doing?" Snape demanded.

"Nothing!" Harry shot back defensively, but the older wizard yanked up his sleeve forcibly anyway.

"Alright, so Bastet rightly dug her claws into you for butchering her bathing experience," he sneered.

"You don't have to rub it in!"

He sighed. "That's exactly what I intend to do: rub it in." He pulled out a bottle of disinfectant from the cobweb strewn cabinet, opened the lid, and smeared the substance onto the scratch…hard.

"Ouch!" Harry yelped. "That stings!"

"It's to prevent blood poisoning, not give you a beauty treatment," he snapped, yanking down the boy's sleeve again. "Now before you destroy my house any further than your efforts at dusting and pet care have already done, we're getting out of here."

"Out?" Harry queried. "Where?"

"Where do you think, radiant one? A used car lot!"

When they arrived at Tidsbury and Son's auto repair and rental garage and adjoining lot, the elder proprietor, a silver-haired, wizened old gent with protective goggles strapped around his head, hailed the professor, "Well, if it ain't the Snape boy."

Snape visibly stiffened. The fact that Tidsbury had done some side work in the factory with his father left him with a perpetual impression of Severus as a messy-haired youngster, and he never let him live it down by growing up into a messy-haired adult. He promptly scared the amused expression off Harry's face with a dead-glare.

"What can we be doin' for ya?" the younger, ruddy faced, red-headed Tidsbury joined in, yelling over the sound of the blowtorch in his hand.

"I've come to peruse the options for a car rental. I'll be taking a trip to Scotland…"

Both men's jaws dropped. "You're… _driving_?" they blurted in unison.

Snape threw up his hands. "Why does everyone keep saying that? I learned to handle myself in an automobile at a young age, if you recall!"

"Yah," the elder conceded. "I remember your practicing in my lot back when you were 10 and 6 years…never saw anything like it before, in all my years of car-dealing…"

"Regardless," Snape grunted, preferring to banish the calamitous memories from his mind. "Times have changed. I come to you for business. I want to hear about your prices for rentals."

He turned and noticed that Harry was transfixed with an English Budgie in a cage near the waiting area. "Don't talk to it," Snape warned.

"Why not?" Harry inquired.

He rolled his eyes. How could he explain simply that the bird had a very colorful vocabulary, picked up from its enlightened owners, and it was inappropriate for a 12-year-old to get involved in deep conversation with it?

"Just don't," Snape growled, shoving him into one of the grubby waiting room chairs. "Sit quietly, don't touch anything, and generally act like you don't exist."

Harry stared at the ground dejectedly as Snape went back over to haggle with the elder Tidsbury over the rental price of a dilapidated 20 year old clunker, which looked rather like it had served on the front lines of the two world wars.

Harry decided it couldn't hurt to take a look at the battered magazines lying on the coffee table nearby. The first one that caught his eye featured a curvaceous blonde in a red-and-white polka dot bikini on the front cover. Flipping it open cautiously, he saw more scantily clad females strewn across the pages. Harry had never seen a magazine quite like this before…it gave him a strange, tingly sensation…and also caused the bird in the cage behind him to do a simulation of a wolf whistle…

Suddenly the spell was broken when the magazine was forcibly yanked out of his hands.

"Hey!" Harry yelped as Snape wacked him in the ear with bikini blonde.

"I do believe I told you not to touch _anything_ , you dirty-minded little whelp."

"I didn't do anything wrong!" he protested.

"Oh, I suppose girly magazines are some sort of acquired taste for you?"

"I…don't even know what that means!"

"You don't…" Just then it dawned on Snape that the tween might actually be experiencing a 'first encounter' of sorts, given the look of genuine confusion, and a touch of embarrassment, on his face. The professor exhaled. "Oh, no, you're not going to get me to have _that_ talk with you, Potter."

"What talk?" Harry queried.

"The one we are _so_ not having!"

"But I…"

"Take it up with that brain-dead Cyclops you'll be staying with if you must."

"Don't say that about…"

"Or, lest the particulars get botched somewhere in the realm of spider mating rituals, try the heroic headmaster. Surely he'll have some stimulating septuagenarian tales to tell."

Thinking about Dumbledore brought something else to Snape's mind. He pulled Harry up by the ear, ignoring the boy's protestations of discomfort. "Come on, brat, we're getting out of here. Said headmaster expressed a perverse desire to speak with you before we embark upon this kamikaze flight. As such, we must…acquire a cell phone."

Cokeworth's lone "tech store" was run by one Gerard Germsley, an immigrant from the wilds of hipster Australia who sported a Mohawk haircut, gold rings in his ears and nose (and belly button, although he only revealed this crowning glory on special occasions to special customers), and a tattoo of a sparkly pink koala bear stitched on his arm.

He liked to consider himself a "revolutionary of luv", bringing technical awareness to the antiquated masses of Midlands England that would surely reverberate the radio waves that would transform the universe. Snape was unmoved by his higher calling, but still was in need of a cell phone. So he and Harry found themselves braving the entryway of his lava-lamp studded, techno-device cluttered, electrically overcharged shop.

"Yo, groovy mate with the Goth look," Germsley hailed him with his hand extended in a peace sign.

Snape didn't bother to return any form of greeting, but merely intoned, "What are your rates for low maintenance mobile phone devices?"

Tech hipster gestured broadly to the array of flashing, beeping, and singing cell phones on a nearby shelf. "Gotta be a smidget more specific, dude."

"Alright, fine," he huffed. "What's the cheapest you've got?"

Germsley sauntered over to the shelf and snatched down a rectangular handheld device. "You wanna be a smart hombre? Then start your technical awakening with a smart phone!"

"What makes it any different than an ordinary model?" Snape inquired suspiciously.

"It's a phone that also connects to the internet," Harry supplied out of nowhere.

"Who asked you for technical consultation?" Snape snorted.

"Well, you seemed like you didn't know…"

"Forget it, look, why do I need this thing anyway? I am certainly not aiming to enter a computer gaming contest."

"You joking, dude? This baby's got a MapQuest App!"

"Translate that, if you would."

"He means it gives you directions…" Harry interjected again.

"Are you insinuating I can't find my own way?" he snapped at the boy. "I have been…under the employ of…our destination…for over a decade."

"Hey, with the rainy season in full swing out here, always best to have a back roads buddy to help you along the straight and narrow, y'know?" Germsley offered, throwing in the Biblical snippet for flavor.

Snape shrugged. "I'm not putting any money down on this gadget until it's tested…for communicative purposes." He thrust the smart phone towards Germsley like it was a live piranha. "How do I dial this?" He demanded, proceeding to reach into his cloak and pull out a slip of paper with Dumbledore's spa number on it.

"Hold tight, mate," Germsley chirped, skillfully massaging the screen with his thumb and then jabbing at the appearing numbers accordingly.

Snape snatched up the phone and held it awkwardly as it started to ring, not sure how close it was supposed to go to his ear, since it felt absolutely gigantic in his hand. Fortuitously, Dumbledore answered promptly.

" _Loooooo_ …"

"It's you-know-who," Snape grunted.

Dumbledore fell silent. "The one we cannot name…?"

"ALBUS!"

"My dear boy, you're sort of…breaking up…is there frequency interference nearby…?"

Snape surveyed his surroundings and deducted that all the technical devices buzzing around him were messing with the signal. He thrust the phone into Harry's hand and dragged him towards the men's room in the back of the store.

"Try standing on top of that," Snape instructed, pointing at the toilet, "which will enable you to crane your neck towards the above window."

"That's gross!" Harry bemoaned.

"Just…close the lid, and _do not drop_ the communication device. If you do, I'll flush your head in there myself."

With that, the elder wizard exited the bathroom and shut Harry in. With a sigh, the boy did as he was told, standing awkwardly on tiptoe near the window. "Hello?" he spoke into the monster phone, hesitantly.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore addressed him, "how nice to hear your voice…even if it is breaking up!"

"Nice to hear you too, Professor," Harry responded. "So…do I really have to drive with Snape?"

" _Professor_ Snape, Harry,"

"Alright, fine…but do I really have to drive with him?"

"I'm afraid there's very little option," Dumbledore sighed. "But there's one thing I wanted to mention to you before you both shove off."

"I'm listening, sir."

"In spite of his faults, Severus is an able, and really a rather brave man," the headmaster started. "However…he has certain…drawbacks. I mean…personal anxieties. One of which is driving."

Harry turned white. "Are you saying he's gonna freak out in the car or something?"

"Well, not necessarily anything so drastic," Dumbledore assured, unconvincingly. "But…the thing is…it might be best to bring along his…medication."

"He needs to be medicated?!"

"Well, it's just to calm his nerves a little. The problem is…he might be too proud to bring it. Soooo…you'll have to bring it for him."

"But professor, how will I know where it is to bring it? And how am I supposed to make him take it? I mean…we're not exactly on the best terms."

"Oh, with your ingenuity, I'm sure you'll find a way. Oh, the bell just rang for tea, I must be off…"

"But profess…"

"Love from the Pacific!"

And that was the end of the transoceanic communication.

Harry came out of the bathroom and announced, "Seems to have worked okay…"

Just then his foot caught on something and he pitched forward onto the fake kangaroo throw rug. Then there was a disturbing smash behind him.

"Potter!" Snape shouted.

" _NOOOO!_ " Germsley moaned.

Harry turned to see the shattered remnants of a mega pink lava lamp, spewing it's contents all over the rug in a last magenta burst of life.

"The aura is destroyed!" Tech hipster turned to Snape. "You murdered it!"

" _Me?!_ " Snape blurted in disbelief. "You're the one who hides extension cords under kangaroo throw rugs two paces from the men's room! Some Neanderthal customer of yours was bound to take a tumble sooner or later." He eyed Harry indicatively.

"Sorry," the boy muttered lamely.

"That ain't replenishing the aura, little mate! That luscious lava flow was my inspiration for life!"

"But…but you still have lots of… _flow_ ," Harry tried, gesturing to the assortment of surviving lava lamps.

"But this one was _my precious_!" he emphasized, sounding just a tad bit like a certain shriveled character in a far-out fantasy series Harry had borrowed from Hermione but never got the chance to finish. "It gave rise to my calling…and the outer design was the blueprint of my tattoo!" He made a muscle and pointed to the glittery pink koala and the letters "L-U-V" emblazoned beneath.

"This is getting absurd," Snape spat, yanking out money from his wallet with more than a little visible suffering. "Take it and be damned!"

"But that doesn't restore my energy plug to the universe!" he lamented, still managing to take the payment for damages and stuffing it in his flower-studded lime-green cash register.

Snape's eyes darted nervously. The last thing he needed at the moment was for a traumatized hipster to file a muggle lawsuit. "Look, I'll be going up to Scotland," he offered. "There are some…specialty shops there." _He certainly wasn't going to say "magic"!_ "It's possible they may have something equivalent to the damaged object in stock, or otherwise be willing to fashion one specially."

Germsley looked a touch emotional for a moment and acclaimed, "Comrade of the enlightenment!", before crushing Snape in an altogether unwanted and unwarranted embrace.

After managing to squirm out of it, taking note that his cloak now emanated the scent of lavender, eucalyptus, and some other herbal "remedies" harder to identify, he seized Harry by the arm and dragged him out the door.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," he growled ominously.

"What?! You can't do that!" Harry protested. "School's not even in session!"

"I'm declaring a state of martial law," he stated. "So unless you want your house to suffer the consequences, you'll force yourself to behave. Now, we have one more stop before shoving off, and I'm warning you, if you cause me a shred of inconvenience, that flying feather duster you dare to call an owl will be cat food."

"Where are we going now?"

"You'll find out when we arrive."

"But…"

" _Just – shut –up_."

Taking into consideration the wellbeing of both his noble school house and his disadvantaged owl, Harry temporarily decided to comply.


	4. Chapter 4: Down the Drain

Chapter 4: Down the Drain

The final stopping point on the pre-trip agenda happened to be just across the field from Snape's ignoble place of residence on the hill. It was a quaint little cottage that seemed to have materialized from a Grimm's fairytale story (short of the gingerbread, of course), and the custodian seemed more than a little like an eccentric elderly fairy godmother.

"Oh, dear me, if it isn't young Snape," she noted, adjusting her spectacles. "What in heaven's name coaxed you out of your cave?"

Snape rolled his eyes indicatively towards Harry, who was standing awkwardly behind him.

"Oh, what a dear little moppet," she regarded him.

"Uh…a what?" Harry queried.

"Are you two by any chance related…?"

"NO!" they both yelped in unison, causing the old lady to jump.

"My, my…you certainly are passionate about it!" she huffed, patting herself on the chest to calm her nerves.

"It's just…he's merely a student at the academy at which I am currently employed," Snape explained shortly. "Due to circumstances that would take too much time and energy to properly explain, I am under the obligation of depositing said student at the school grounds, and must drive to Aberdeen as a result. The reason for my visit here is to request that you look after my cat and Venus fly trap while I am away."

"Oh, that cat of yours is a wild thing…doesn't take well to anyone…"

"That does not negate from the fact that she still needs feeding," he pointed out. "And as usual, I'm more than willing to…return the favor in some way, at some point, if need be."

Typically, when he was out of town during the school sessions, she readily agreed to make sure that his pets and plants remained happy and healthy, and batted away any miscreants trying to smash his windows or otherwise damage his property with her formidable cane. In return, he would agree to water her garden and feed her birds when she was off visiting her grandchildren in Brighton. But this time, she seemed harder to induce to accept the mission.

"You picked a terribly bad time, it being summer and all," she fretted.

"Are you leaving on holiday?" he queried.

"No, but my grandchildren will be visiting, and I've so very much to do preparing, so very much to…" She paused and tilted her head slightly. "Actually, there are a few things you could do in the present to help…seal the deal, as they say?"

He raised an eyebrow dubiously. "What precisely do you have in mind?"

The "few favors" Mrs. Wimpleton had in store for Snape to fulfill included fixing her leaking kitchen sink with her late husband's primitive, rust-laden tool kit (with a drip that kept falling in his like Chinese water torture as he lay on the ground fighting the flow of the ruptured pipe), trying to get her pet Cockatiel, Waldo, to peacefully move into the bigger cage with the lady bird, Henrietta (even though Waldo seemed to have no great desire to be forcibly paired with Henrietta, who Snape suspected might murder him), and to assemble a giant Charlie Brown Christmas interactive display for her front lawn (evidently, regardless of the season, she was determined that her grand kiddies should experience Christmas in July).

There was also the mission of helping her weed through a massive crate of TV Guides, describing all the greatest highlights of soap opera plots for the past 15 years….which she turned out not wanting to get rid of in the end anyway. But still, she took every opportunity to reminisce at length about her favorite episodes of young hearts turning, which set Snape's anti-sentimental stomach to churning.

Meanwhile, the lady of the house had kindly presented Harry with a plate full of oatmeal raisin cookies and a glass of chocolate milk. Snape did not approve.

"I believe I have quite effectively paid my debt to society, madam," he growled, wiping a greasy lock of his hair out of his face and leaning against the kitchen wall, exasperated. "Are you agreed to the original bargain of pet and plant care, or aren't you?"

"Don't you go pressuring me, young man," she scolded him. "Very forceful about having your way; all your family has been…"

" _Madam_ …"

"You know, you need to get out and socialize more, meet a nice girl who can teach you some manners, and encourage you to re-paint that crumbly old house…"

"I'm quite content with the current paint, thank you," he hissed.

"Oh, don't be a savage! That nasty stuff is peeling off left and right! It's a disgrace to the neighborhood!"

"I needn't bother to remind you that we both live on the outskirts of the neighborhood proper," he grumbled, "and I'm not aiming on winning a home and garden competition."

"But _I_ may be!" she stated, pointing to a piece of paper stuck on her refrigerator that listed the date for just such a contest coming up the autumn. "And my proximity to your dump would surely spoil my chances! Guilt by accidental association! You don't even put up pretty curtains, or Venetian blinds! Just those hideous, black, wasp-infested shutters!"

"Mrs. Wimpleton, if it your deepest desire, you are welcome to banish the wasps from my shutters when you go over to feed my cat," he offered, slyly. "And then feed the insect corpses to my meat-starved carnivorous plant. Now, we really must be going, so I bid you…adieu!"

He grabbed Harry roughly by the arm and dragged him away from the table, and the plate of cookies, although the boy did manage to stuff a couple of them into his pocket.

When they got back to Snape's house, the evening sun had already sunk in the sky like a rock in a pond, and the professor was fit to be tied. Fortunately, the younger Tidsbury had kept his bargain and driven the rental car up in front of the porch to make it easier to load with necessities. Harry wedged Hedwig's cage snugly between his own luggage and Snape's overnight bag in the trunk, and while the owl didn't seem particularly keen on this mode of transportation, Harry figured he was safer away from a certain long-clawed feline.

When done, Snape eyed Harry and gestured curtly to the back of the car. "Get in, you nasty horsefly."

"But…do I have to sit in the back?"

"You're off your rocker if you think I would let you pester me to death by having you ride shot gun. Now get in where you belong!"

"But I'll get car sick in the back!"

Snape squinted. "If you dare to vomit in my rental car, prepare your thumb to hitchhike the rest of the way north."

"But…"

"Just…GET IN THE VEHICLE. NOW."

"Wait!" Harry yelped. "I…uh…forgot something in the house."

Snape sighed. "Forgetfulness seems to be your prime virtue, doesn't it, Mr. Potter?"

"It'll only take a minute!"

"Well, make it a damn quick minute! I want to be on the road before nightfall. The back ways are treacherous in the dark, and there's a rough bend out by McGinty's farm that…." Realizing that he was starting to nerve himself out with potential Midland driving disasters, he shook his head roughly, and shoved Harry towards the door. "Just get whatever it is you have to get, already!"

The boy exhaled as he closed the door behind him. "Geez, this guy seems like a wreck already," he observed to himself. "Gotta get those calm down pills…but where would he keep them around this place?" He scanned the dimly lit mess that was Snape's living quarters. "He probably organizes stuff just as often as his washes his hair…gah…"

He heard the menacing meow of a cat, and saw Bastet spread out smugly on the couch, to designate as her domain, and her domain alone. An idea came into Harry's mind.

"Bastet," he addressed her, in as sweet a tone as possible. "Look…we've gotta have a talk."

She looked like she had decided the best method to deal with the intruder was to ignore him altogether, tossing her tail to and fro.

"Oh, come on, this is important!" Harry huffed. "Don't you care about your master at all? He's gotta drive, and it seems like everyone in town thinks he's a menace on the road! Even his boss seems to think he'll have a panic attack or something! And last time I saw him…well…he had a kind of creepy look in his eye. I mean, he always does, but this is like…you know…the tension is about to make the cheese slip off his cracker? And that's…not good….especially 'cause I've gotta drive with him! So can't you just…show me where he keeps his nerve pills? Please?"

She continued staring at him, unmoved, for a long time. Then, finally, she got up in slow motion, and elegantly descended from the sofa and sashayed towards the bathroom. Harry followed. Hopping up onto the closed toilet, her gazed seemed fixated on the cracked mirror medicine cabinet just above the sink.

"Oh, of course!" Harry exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "Why didn't I think of that!"

Pulling open the cabinet with enthusiasm, his mood sank as he beheld the menagerie of bottles, both of pills and potions, with spider-scratch writing on them which he was accustomed to seeing marking his failing report card.

"Holy cow," he exhaled. "Has this guy been raided recently?"

Bastet just busied herself cleaning her paw, too superior to pay heed to his barbaric inquiries.

Harry squinted as he tried to make sense of the labeling system. "Insomnia relief…werewolf antidote…migraine relief…love-loss potion…wait, does that mean this guy actually, like, went out with like…a girl?"

Bastet again seemed most unwilling to divulge if her master had a secret night life, but Harry could imagine that she wouldn't like the idea of competing with another lady whatsoever.

"Alright, fine, whatever. Let's see what else…cold and flu symptom relief…draught of the living dead counter-potion…joint pain relief…multi-headed canine bite cure…depression relief and mood enhancer…okay, he must never take _that_!"

He looked down to the next level of the shelf. "Wow, he's got a lot of allergy medicine…for hay fever, goldenrod, bee stings, troll saliva, mayonnaise, and….oh, no….Bastet! He's allergic to cat dander! Bad kitty!"

She just meowed authoritatively, like a queen on her porcelain throne.

"Hmm…where in the world is it…" He tried standing up on tip-toe to see if there was a second row, and accidentally knocked a number of the bottles in to the sink. One of them opened up and spilled down the drain. "Oh, crickey…he's gonna bloody well freak!"

He snatched up the bottle and read the label, which was written out in bright red marker:

"IMPORTANT: ANTI-VENOM SOLUTION EXPERIMENT"

"Oh, well…he's got enough cure-all stuff already; I guess he'll just have to live without this one," Harry decided, tossing the emptied bottle in the waste-paper basket in hopes that Snape would just forget about its existence in the aftermath. "But hey, it looks like I finally found those nerve pills after all!" He reached in the sink and picked up the bottle marked "Stress Relief" triumphantly.

Just then, the sound of a very agitated would-be driver pounding on a worn-out, squeaky car horn indicated that hell was to pay for the delay.

"Uh-oh…better split! Thanks for the help, Bastet!"

He awkwardly half-patted her on the head, and she awkwardly half-clawed him with her paw, and then he bolted out the door with rescue remedy safely tucked in his sweater pocket for a rainy road trip day.


End file.
